


Like a House on Fire

by HallowAvengence



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, I mean.... there is some plot, Multi, My mother had such high hopes for me, Set during/after series 6, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 10:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12188139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowAvengence/pseuds/HallowAvengence
Summary: Lana has never seen Kalinda this undone before.





	Like a House on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So this sort of ignores the last few episodes of series 6, or rather, pretends there was some neat happy ending that didn't involve Kalinda high tailing it out of town. 
> 
> I actually ship Cary/Kalinda which, as someone who is like 126% gay, is kind of baffling. I blame Archie Punjabi and her ability to have chemistry with everything from inanimate objects to the huge, soul-crushing voids of space and time. Really, if I wake up straight tomorrow morning, I'm suing The Good Wife.
> 
> Right, yes. Do let me know what you think. I've never actually written smut before so... And I really want to write a follow up piece where Kalinda finds out she's pregnant and tells Cary and Cary is all "you're telling me because it's mine right?" and Kalinda does a lot of eye rolling and says "well it sure as hell isn't Lana's" and then they live happily ever after and Lana comes over for dinner regularly and to generally screw Kalinda senseless and Cary doesn't even mind because Kalinda is happy and hello! look how adorable his daughter is, and they all generally continue to exist in this weird, polyamourous ever-after. It might just be me that wants that though so.

In hindsight, Lana really should have suspected.

 

Kalinda texts her, out of the blue: _drinks, 8pm, Yale Street._ They don’t _do_ drinks.

 

Oh, they go out for dinner and, sometimes, if Lana is feeling particularly homesick and Kalinda is feeling indulgent, they’ll wander around one of Chicago’s parks, elbows brushing. Occasionally Lana even manages to drag Kalinda to breakfast with her, and, more often than not they’ll spend hours on Lana’s couch, feet brushing together, drinking wine. But drinks? Never.

 

But Lana doesn’t realise then. Doesn’t even realise when Kalinda waves her over to a booth, not the bar.  Stupid. That definitely should have given it away. Kalinda is, after all, not much of social drinker. She likes to be as close to the bar tender as possible, and have one eye on the door at all times; not be sat, sunk down and half hidden at a table.

 

But, embarrassingly, Lana only realises when she actually spots Cary Argos, tucked away in the booth Kalinda’s chosen. He looks equal parts shocked and sheepish to see her and, clearly, he knew as little about this as Lana.

 

She thinks about turning around and leaving. But she’s not a coward; has never run away from things that scare her before. She’s not about to now. So, she lets Kalinda catch her wrist and pull her into the booth. The other woman drops a shot of tequila in front of her, clinks it against her own and, just like that, Lana Delany is having drinks with her girlfriend Kalinda Sharma and Kalinda Sharma’s puppy-eyed boyfriend.

 

Why, exactly, Lana has no idea. But Lana’s smart. Has known Kalinda long enough to understand that the woman can’t help but calculate, can’t help but find an angle. She’s being played; just doesn’t know how or why yet.

 

She runs through a list of possibilities, trying to narrow down how Kalinda could possibly benefit from trapping herself and Cary in the same space.

 

 _Work?_ There’s nothing on Lana’s roster that even remotely links to Florrick, Argos and Lockhart.

 _Cary’s arrest?_ It’s long enough ago now that, by FBI standards, it’s forgotten. And besides, Kalinda isn’t stupid, she knows the best way to get agency secrets out of Lana is in private.

 _Lemond Bishop?_ Considering the man almost got Kalinda killed and Cary locked up, it seems unlikely that this little get-together is honour of that particular can of worms.

 

All in all, Lana is stumped.

 

Or she is until, two drinks in, Kalinda presses a thigh alongside her own and causally brushes her fingers over Cary’s. _Oh,_ Lana thinks, _nothing work or business related at all then._

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  

 

Kalinda must have known that they’d like each other. Must have known she’d have a much better chance of keeping them both if they got along. If they came to some amicable agreement: Cary on Wednesdays, Lana on Fridays, alternating weekends. Nodding cordially to one another from doorways as they drive Kalinda around from bed to bed.

 

And not only, Lana realises with a flash of annoyance, is she being played but it’s working. Lana _likes_ Cary. Likes his little self-depicting half smiles and the quiet, good-humoured resignation that he exudes. She watches Kalinda smile fondly at him and is surprised when the expected rush of jealous rage doesn’t come.

 

In fact, it’s, heaven forbid, _nice_ to have someone sat opposite her across table. Someone to roll her eyes at when Kalinda gets tight lipped and closes up like a clam. _Nice_ to have someone else who has a mother and a father and sisters and a brother to hold back some of the sadness she feels at Kalinda’s so obvious lack of anything like a normal childhood.

 

At every shared eye roll, every smile or flash of recognition between them, Kalinda gets a pleased, affectionate look that she tries to hide, tucking the smile away at the corner of her mouth. But Lana sees it, and wants to slap herself at how easily she allows herself to be played by this tiny, kaleidoscopic puzzle of a woman.   

 

When Kalinda slides out of the booth to get them more drinks, Lana slips herself over to Cary and says: “she wants us to like each other.”

 

Cary shrugs, gives her an apologetic smile, says: “it’s working,” and Lana hates how charming she finds it.

 

“She’s playing us,” she insists.

 

But Cary remains loose-limbed and unconcerned. “Kalinda always is. I’ve figured out by now that it’s normally in my best interests to let her. It’s too much effort to try and work out the angle.”

 

And Lana can see now, suddenly, why Kalinda likes him so much. Why she refused so blankly to give him up. Because Lana had asked her once. Months ago now, when it became clear that Kalinda was, _yes,_ serious about her but serious too about this man-puppy of a boy. _Me or him_ Lana had whispered at her, _you have to choose_ and Kalinda had disappeared for two whole weeks and refused all contact until Lana had cornered her and apologised, murmured _sorry_ against Kalinda’s lips, jaw, thighs and the hot wet heat of her.

 

Lana knows, or guesses really, that Cary had made a similar request. Guesses from the way Kalinda had turned up unannounced one evening outside her apartment door, looked at her for one long moment and then kissed her, decisively, for two, before striding away bristling with purpose.

 

Either way, in the low light of the bar, Lana knows Cary is right. It’s pointless trying to steer Kalinda. It would be like attempting to tame the ocean.

 

“So what?” she asks, “we’re friends?”

 

Cary laughs, rubs a tired hand across his face. “Sure,” he says, “if you want.”

 

Kalinda returns, balancing drinks with practised ease and indulging the sway of her own hips. And Lana thinks _fine,_ thinks _you want us to get along, then let’s get along_ and slides a hand up Cary’s leg from knee to thigh before she can second guess herself.

 

Cary makes a choking noise.

 

Kalinda puts down their drinks and looks at them both with interest. When their eyes meet, Lana finds the challenge in Kalinda’s gaze and uses it to tap her fingers teasingly across the top of Cary’s thigh.

 

“What,” Cary mutters at her in a low whisper, “are you doing?”

 

Lana grins at him.  “Getting played,” she husks and Cary looks like he can’t decide between arousal, confusion or laughter.

 

Kalinda slides back into the booth bedside her, smiles pleasantly at them, says: “I thought you didn’t understand the appeal of sex with men,” like she’s commenting on the weather. _It’s cold outside today and there’s a 20% chance of bi-curiosity._

“Kalinda,” Cary says warningly, and there’s concern in his tone, although Lana doesn’t know if it’s for her or for Kalinda.

 

“Cary,” Kalinda says easily. She passes him his scotch, takes her own shot glass of tequila and licks some lime juice coquettishly of the tip of her finger. She’s more playful tonight than Lana’s ever seen her and Lana wonders if that’s Cary’s influence. With her alone, Kalinda is earnest: darks eyes, and sincere smiles and feral magnetism.

 

Lana’s hand is still on the top of Cary’s thigh, and Lana jumps when Kalinda reaches over them both to take Cary’s hand and place it on top of Lana’s free one resting on the table. She sits back then, looks at them, expression unreadable.

 

Lana wonders what she sees. The perfect all-American, white couple maybe.

 

The perfect all-American, white couple she and Cary might make on the surface, but the surface is a bitter irony: each of them in love with this woman in front of them, whose accent sometimes slips from American to English to something even further afield. Whose past is enough in shadow that Lana knows to label it as dangerous.

 

But Kalinda’s blank mask doesn’t seem to be registering the irony, not with Cary and Lana arranged and frozen like wedding cake toppers for her, so Lana leans forward, quick and hard, to kiss her.

 

It takes a few moments, in which she can feel Cary shuffling awkwardly behind her, for Kalinda to come unstuck. But it works and Kalinda leans back and rolls her eyes and tells Lana to _drink._

 

And so she does. One, two, three or was it four, surely not five, tequilas in and Lana feels bolder. She likes the way Kalinda’s eyes smoulder whenever Cary touches her, the way Kalinda’s fingers twitch when Lana touches him.

 

Cary has cottoned on to it too, if the way he reaches over to brush Lana’s hair back behind her ear is any indication.

 

Kalinda watches, quiet, biting her lip.

 

Lana walks careful fingers up Cary’s arm, smooths his tie down his chest.

 

Kalinda’s grip round her glass tightens.

 

Cary leans, oh so slowly, down to whisper in her ear. His nose just brushing against her loose hair as he murmurs: “this is fun.”

 

Kalinda crosses and then re-crosses her legs. Shifts a little.

 

Lana turns to whisper back at him but is halted by Kalinda putting her glass down on the table with a curt clack.

 

“I know what you’re doing,” Kalinda says. Her eyes are burning, dark, pupils blown wide. “But just,” she slides closer, “how far,” presses herself against Lana, “do you want,” pressing Lana in turn against Cary’s chest, “to take it?” She breathes the last three words against Lana’s shocked mouth, her fingers finding the hem of Lana’s skirt to slip under.

 

Lana feels, rather than sees, Cary swallow thickly behind her. She wonders what he thinks about all this.

 

“I… could take it pretty far,” Lana says, just managing to keep her voice cool and unbroken. She has never been able to back down from a challenge, has known it to be her biggest flaw since childhood. Still, she lets her own daring take over, spreads her legs for Kalinda further and has to close her eyes as Kalinda’s fingers slide higher up her thighs at the invitation.

 

“Jesus,” Cary whispers. He has an arm around her waist and is, unconsciously Lana thinks, rubbing small soothing circles into the top of her shoulder blade. The gesture is almost brotherly and she doesn’t really know what to do with the bizarre mix of affection she feels for him in that moment, with the absolute desire that surges through her as Kalinda’s fingertips _just_ stroke against the wet crotch of her underwear. 

 

Kalinda sees the movement too and smiles fondly at him, leaning to brush a sweet, closed mouth kiss to his lips even as she presses one finger up and inside Lana. 

 

They shouldn’t be doing this here Lana thinks with suddenly clarity. Their booth is rounded at the corners, fairly private, but _still._ Kalinda, it seems, has a similar thought because her hand suddenly stops terrorizing Lana and retreats. She smiles at them both again and, _god,_ sucks the wet digit that was just inside Lana into her mouth.

 

“Let’s go,” she says.

 

¥

 

Cary drives them to his apartment, after a brief, hushed, conversation between him and Kalinda, standing in the cold outside the bar.

 

“Kalinda,” Lana hears him say, “what are we doing? Isn’t Lana… _gay?”_

Kalinda shrugs, runs assessing eyes over Lana’s profile. “Lana’s a big girl,” she says.

 

Cary’s shifts and where his face catches the light Lana can see how worried he looks. She watches Kalinda soften, reaching up to cup his cheek, kiss him softly. “You don’t want too?” she asks.

 

Cary huffs a laugh against her hair, eyes twinkling, “I wouldn’t say that, no… I just don’t want to…” He curls an arm around Kalinda’s waist, pulling her against him more firmly, and what he says next Lana loses into the cold Chicago air between them.

 

Whatever he says, it causes Kalinda to coo, half sarcastic, half genuine, “so sweet.” She kisses him again briefly and then nods at the driver’s seat.

 

Cary rolls his eyes, grins good-naturedly at Lana across the hood of the car, and says, “yes ma’am.”

 

¥

 

The dark backseat of Cary’s car gives Lana just enough to space to wonder _what the heck she thinks she’s doing._ It’s not that she hasn’t slept with men before, she has. And it wasn’t awful exactly. Just boring. She’d spend five minutes staring at the ceiling thinking about what groceries she needed to buy at the store.

 

And… Cary is attractive. But it’s different. It’s the kind of attractive you recognise, fleetingly admire and then leave well alone. The attractiveness of sun-sets, of fresh linen, of a perfectly organised bookshelf.

 

She thinks back to that conversation over dinner, years ago. Kalinda leaning, indecipherable and beautiful, across the rim of her wine glass and saying _Italian, Mexican, Thai, why does one choose?_

_Sex isn’t food_ Lana had replied and Kalinda had shrugged her off as easily as she had shrugged off the question of _love_ and _intimacy._ But now, watching the same woman smile across the gear stick at Cary, Lana wonder’s if Kalinda would so easily be able to side-step those questions.

 

Either way, Italian one week, Mexican the other, is all very well and good, but Lana has the distinct feeling that they are all heading towards Italian and Mexican on the same night, on the same goddamn plate.

 

But… she does want this. The slickness between her legs is testimony to that. Yet, when she tries to imagine it, what will happen, her mind runs out. She can picture her and Kalinda together, can picture, even, Kalinda and Cary. It’s just when she tries to bring the two together that she comes unstuck.

“You okay back there?” Cary asks, glancing at her in the review mirror and Lana smiles, closes her eyes, lets her mind go blank.

 

¥

 

Cary’s apartment is nice. Big and drafty and open plan.

 

Cary heads over to turn lights on but then seems to think better of it and Lana is glad. She feels less vulnerable in the half-light; the gloom makes it easier to slip into Lana Delaney, FBI agent, unruffled and cool in the face of drug stings, hostage situations and, now, threesomes.

 

Kalinda’s boots disappear without Lana noticing, but the other woman is suddenly three inches smaller and padding, neatly, around Lana to the big windows at onside of the apartment.

 

“Beer?” Cary asks her and Lana nods for lack of knowing what else to do.

 

When she turns back, Kalinda is leaning beside an open window, eyes on her. “Are you sure about this?” she asks.

 

Lana steps closer, flicking eyes over the rows of pictures on Cary’s walls, feigning interest. “You’re asking me that now, really?” She laughs, lightly, “don’t pretend you didn’t plan this Kalinda.”

 

Kalinda rolls her eyes upwards, “I didn’t. You’re the one that,” her eyes flick to over to where Cary is clattering around in the kitchen, “pushed it.”

 

Lana steps even closer. She still has her heels on, and it means the other woman has to tilt her chin up to look at her. It makes Kalinda look even more defiant, back lit as she is by the Chicago skyline.

 

“So inviting me and Cary for drinks was what? Your attempt at an innocent get-together?”

 

Kalinda’s face is a picture of innocence, “I wanted you to get along, that’s all.” She licks her lips, innocence falling away to reveal something more heated. “You can’t deny you weren’t…. _curious_ about him,” Kalinda arches forward, husks the last words inches from Lana’s mouth, her fingers reaching to begin undoing the top buttons of Lana’s blouse.

 

There’s the chink of glass to the left of them and Cary’s standing, slack mouthed, a meter away. He grimaces apologetically when their twin gazes turn as one to him. “Sorry,” he murmurs sheepishly, and then more loudly, “are you two always like this? It’s like watching sexual chess.”

 

Kalinda’s laugh, abrupt and bright, startles Lana. It’s like finding another room in a house she’s lived in for years. But Kalinda’s hands are still busily undoing buttons and pushing the fabric off her shoulders and then Lana’s standing in Cary’s living room in her bra.

 

“Why?” Lana asks as she feels Kalinda’s exploring fingers reach round her waist for the zip of her skirt, “what are you two like together?”

 

Cary shrugs, glances away, shifts from foot to foot, shrugs again, before he says, “she mostly does what she likes with me really.”

 

Kalinda makes a pleased noise, her tugging at Lana’s skirt stopping briefly so she can smile cat-like at him, and Lana finds that little smirk equal parts arousing and irritating. She lets both feelings rise in her, take over, and hears herself say: “well, in that case, maybe we should change that.”

 

She takes Kalinda by the elbows, turns her, walks her backwards, stepping out her skirt as she does so.

 

Kalinda looks mildly surprised and Lana marvels at how nice it is to be in control. To be the one pressing Kalinda against the vertical surface for once.

 

Here, that vertical surface happens to be Cary, and Lana sandwiches Kalinda against them. In her heels and with Cary’s height, Kalinda’s small between them in her stockinged feet. She nods at Cary over Kalinda’s head. “You might want to take those off,” she says.

 

Cary grins, takes his hands of Kalinda’s waist to shuck his shirt and trousers. Lana kisses Kalinda while he does so, slipping a hand round to unfasten her dress, nipping at her bottom lip as she drags the item off her. Cary’s reappears, his hands helping her pull the garment off the smaller woman. He chuckles softly when he catches sight of Kalinda’s surly expression. He kisses the top of her shoulder in a conciliatory fashion, trails kisses up her neck, catches an earlobe between his teeth. Kalinda’s expression drops: bites her lip, eyes closed.

 

Lana watches it all with the cool interest of a conductor.

 

She unhooks Kalinda’s bra, slides off her underwear and then has them both walking backwards again, until Cary’s back hits the wall. She kicks off her own shoes so she can duck down and easily take one of Kalinda’s nipples in her mouth.

 

The smaller woman lets out a choked off whine and looks, briefly, shocked at her own noise before Lana is swirling her tongue again over her hardening nipple and Cary is scraping teeth beneath the hinge of her jaw.

 

“Fun,” Cary whispers at Lana, minutes later when their eyes catch again, when Kalinda is keening between them. And _it is._ Lana has never seen Kalinda this undone before. She’s normally so composed, neat, contained. She even comes tidily; the only thing to give her away are hot panting breathes and clenching thighs.  

 

But now she’s mussed, hair falling out in wisps, mouth smudged and begging, thighs spread wide. She’s pinned between them, most of her weight against Cary’s chest, Lana’s firm hands keeping her steady on her arched tiptoes.

 

It’s a rush, exhilarating to have done this, to have taken Kalinda apart piece by piece. Neither of them has even touched her yet properly.

 

“Shut,” says Kalinda from between them, frowning deeply even as her hips cant forward in a search for friction, “up.”

 

And Lana laughs, kisses her. “Not having fun Kalinda?” she teases. She trails light fingers up the sensitive skin on the other woman’s inner thighs. Wonders at the way Kalinda goes quiet beneath her hands, supplicant, pleading her to move her up fingers upwards. She’s so _wet._

 

 She looks at Cary, gives him a decisive nod, “you should…” She doesn’t really know how to finish the sentence, but Cary seems to understand, bending so he can encourage Kalinda up further onto her tiptoes, lifting her weight so he can guide himself inside her.

 

Lana pulls back a little to watch as he does. Kalinda’s face goes completely slack, mouth dropping open, head dropping back to land heavily on Cary’s shoulder. Cary pauses too, breathing deeply, collecting himself. And then he opens his eyes, to look at Lana, to wait for instructions.

 

It heady, this kind of power.

 

Kalinda opens her eyes to look at her too, half lidded and almost sleepy with desire. Lana kisses her, allowing affection to seep into the it, and presses herself up against Kalinda’s body so Cary has more leverage.

 

“Go,” she says.

 

And Cary does.

 

Lana watches them for a while, busies herself with cataloguing the expressions that flit across Kalinda’s face. It’s interesting to watch sex up so close. It’s not like porn. More real.  It’s the littlest things that she finds are bizarrely and all-consumingly arousing.  Like the way Kalinda’s left foot, her thigh held open by Cary’s hand, is hooked round the back of his calf. The way her hands’ twist and grasp at nothing every time Cary presses into her.

Lana lets her own hands trail down over Kalinda’s belly, sliding fingers over the jut of her hip bones, the softness beneath her belly button.

 

Cary seems to be going slow, but deep, if the way Kalinda’s breath breaks on every thrust is any indication. He’s frowning with concentration and Lana wonders absentmindedly how long he can keep it up.

 

Her hand finally comes to a stop just shy of truly touching Kalinda. She swallows, finds Kalinda’s eyes on her; the other woman having taken Lana’s hesitation to regain some composure and _really_ that won’t do at _all_.

 

She presses two fingers against her clit and Kalinda shudders, her back snapping into a tight arch.

 

It doesn’t take long after that. Not with Lana rubbing quick, precise circles against her in time to Cary’s deep, slow thrusts.

 

Kalinda comes with a low, long, loud whine and Lana feels the orgasm rippling through her. She goes rigid, hot, every muscle straining.

 

Cary chokes a moan too, squeezes his eyes shut, slows his movements gradually and together they coax Kalinda through it as she trembles and pants between them.  

 

There’s a long moment, quiet and suspended, after Cary pulls himself out of Kalinda and she drops, her whole weight falling into Lana, to recover, breathing hot and high against Lana’s neck.

 

Lana glances up to share a triumphant smile with Cary, but the man is leaning against the wall behind him, looking almost as strung out as Kalinda had been moments before.

 

“Oh,” says Lana. She doesn’t really know what to do about that.  “Kalinda…?”

 

Against her Kalinda’s still a little breathless, but she glances back at Lana’s prompting, huffs a laugh. “Cary…” she murmurs, reaches back to run a soothing hand down his chest.

 

Cary holds up a hand, “yeah, just, give me a minute.” He waves his hand vaguely at Lana, “I’ll catch up.”

 

Kalinda’s smile slips as she turns back to Lana, her expression becoming familiar: hot and feral.

 

“My turn,” she whispers, leaning to kiss Lana hard, nipping with sharp teeth at the column of her throat, the curve of her jaw. Lana is walked backwards, tugged and turned, until her knees hit the soft edge of a bed. And then Kalinda hooks a sudden foot around her ankle, pushes her, and Lana is spread out on the bed, hands caught up in Kalinda’s above her head.

 

Lana would be surprised at how quickly Kalinda recovered from trembling wreck,  back to the fierce fury she normal takes Lana with, but the woman has managed to get a leg between her own already, lips dragging over her collarbone and lower, and all of Lana’s thoughts begin to slide away…

 

Kalinda moves down her body, drags her underwear off, spreads Lana out in front of her. She looks pleased at what she finds, drags the tip of her finger lightly over the wetness between Lana’s legs, sits back on her heels, eyes dark and hungry. “Did you like it,” she asks, ‘watching Cary fuck me? Fucking me at the same time?”

 

“You seemed to,” Lana manages. She doesn’t have the willpower to sound unaffected anymore, so it comes out as a petulant whine, and Kalinda’s mouth tips up victoriously. She slips one, then two, fingers inside her, presses them up deep and forward until they hit a spot inside Lana that makes her cry out.

 

Cary appears, suddenly, over Kalinda’s shoulder, blinks at the scene in front of him, and offers Lana a little half wave. Kalinda rolls her eyes, curls her fingers deep within Lana, and looks thoroughly pleased when both Lana and Cary gasp. 

 

She kisses Cary over her shoulder and then lowers her head and licks a long line across the whole of Lana’s heat. Lana is lost then to Kalinda’s mouth on her, fingers inside her. Returns back to, a little, when Kalinda gasps shallowly against her, enough to realise Cary is inside Kalinda again, and fades out as the other woman resumes her ministrations.

 

Kalinda brings her up and then back down twice, holds her on the edge, and pushes her over at the same moment Lana becomes vaguely aware of Cary groaning lowly.

 

When Lana comes back to herself, she is surprised to find her arms full of a smug looking Kalinda. She lifts her head, locates Cary, spread eagled, on Kalinda’s other side, blinking dazedly at the ceiling. “You okay?” she asks. He looks broken, like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

“Yeah…” he croaks, “not designed like you, not as… durable.” She feels Kalinda press a smile into her shoulder.

 

She doesn’t feel very durable right now either. “Good job,” she manages.

 

Kalinda’s smile becomes a full grin and then a soft laugh. Lana kisses her tiredly to make her quiet.

 

“You don’t have to look quite so pleased,” Lana mutters, eyes drifting shut.

 

Cary rolls over, drops an arm around Kalinda’s waist.

 

“Don’t I?” Kalinda says, and _really_ , Lana should have suspected this all along.

 


End file.
